Yet I'm Still Here
by NeverUnderestimateWords
Summary: Steve has been trying to cope with the loss of, well, everything he loved for the past 6 months. Drawing was a way for him to express it, but this time it only shook him further into despair. Hurrying out of his apartment, Steve heads to Avengers Tower, which he would later regret and be grateful for.


_**A/N: Hello, everybody welcome to a piece of trash writing. It's mostly angst, which I guess is just part of my personality. Please read and review.**_

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The drawing of Peggy lay unfinished in Steve's hands, silence surrounding him.

It was a day off for Steve, no missions or life-threatening catastrophes, so he decided to draw a memory. It was relaxing and it helped him express his pent up emotions, gnawing at him. It was one of the clearer ones in his mind. Slowly the sketch told the story of a band of generals wanting to send a battalion as bait into a deadly area of battle. The focus of the drawing was on Peggy, who pointedly steered the group from that terrible risk.

It was an incredible portrait. To an initial glance, a viewer might see a quiet submissive lady, but someone who knew the tenacious woman would see how the arch of Peggy's eyebrows were mocking the generals and her lips biting back a snappy remark. The only thing that wasn't finished in the drawing was Peggy's eyes, lying dull and grey.

Steve had paused on that aspect of her for several minutes, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. It wasn't the uncompleted picture that bothered the captain but that he had forgotten what exactly her eyes looked like. They were brown but what shade? Didn't they have flecks of amber or was it grey?

His brain drew a blank and his fingers snapped the sketchbook shut with an audible thud in the thickening silence, a quiet that was threatening to snap him. Steve felt oddly ill like he was nauseas or perhaps his stomach was churning from grief.

Cleaning up quickly, Steve rushed out of his bland Brooklyn apartment. The silence was all of a sudden too much, yet at the same time he knew that he would regret leaving it in about an hour.

Searching his mind, Steve Rogers tried to console himself of forgetting specifics about Peggy. He would never intentionally forget his best girl, but had he?

The blond bit his lip, revving his motorcycle onto the streets.

Of course the big things about Peggy lay in his mind but they were faded and worn like a piece of cloth rubbed over too much. With further searching, Steve noted that almost all of his memories from in his true time were grey, existing but not alive like they once were with sound and colour. Weaving towards Stark tower, Steve wondered how exactly Peggy's voice sounded, like sugar but firm, or what Bucky's favourite season was, summer.

It wasn't like Steve had been hit with a sudden burst of forgetfulness about the little things, and also big things, from before he went under the ice. Steve just couldn't remember every thing that he wish he could.

The combination of unsettling silent and the slow dimming of Steve's memories had made his body tense and yearn for noise. Thankfully, the horns and chatter of New York were an anecdote, until he could have actual interaction with people who knew him.

After the commute to the Tower, Steve was still slightly shocked at his behaviour at wanting to be in the company of the Avengers, even Stark's. The half year of working together had brought them together as a team but the individuals themselves still didn't always coexist peacefully. To be honest it was a rarity that they didn't have some argument.

Even though Steve found Stark aggravating, Natasha creepy, Clint snarky, Thor noisy and rarely around, and Bruce quiet but decent, they were the closest people he knew.

The Commandos, Peggy, and Bucky were thought of as ancient boring history in museums not the lively, hilarious people Steve knew and loved. There wasn't the bond between the Avengers that was between Steve's precious Howling Commandos.

A greeting rang from the front desk once he arrived and Steve was granted access to the private elevator that went up to the upper levels. Shifting his leather jacket, Steve was poked in the rib by the sketchbook's pointy edge just as the elevator dinged open. He should not have brought something as personal as a load of drawings where spies and assassins ran wild but here he was. There was no time to hide the sketchbook just adjust more under the leather.

"Captain Steve," shouted Thor, waving him enthusiastically over to the modern living room where the rest of the team was communing.

When Steve normally visited for a mission briefing or debriefing, everyone was off doing their own thing in their own rooms, so it was a surprise to see the team gathered around with glasses of what he believed was wine.

"Hello, Steve. How are you doing?" warmly Bruce greeted.

Steve smiled but he felt that it was forced. Right now he couldn't lie and say he was fine because he truly wasn't.

"Surprised to see you here, Capsicle. Wanna a glass of something? Wine? Vodka? Wait that would be too strong for you wouldn't it? A juicebox?" The side of Tony's mouth quirked up as he spoke.

"I'll pass, Stark," Steve curtly replied. This was a bad idea. Why did he do this? Oh yeah, because everything and everybody he knew and loved was gone and he didn't have anybody but this slightly strange bunch. Something inside of him shriveled.

"We were just talking about the mission in Romania..." Tony began and off he went. Words flowed out of his mouth about how well they entered the enemy facility, captured the information, disposed of the threat, and departed with occasional loud questions from Thor and quiet explanations from Bruce. Natasha would slyly add something here or there that low key insulted Tony and Clint would then agree. Tony then spat something back and would continue on.

Heat rose in his cheeks and Steve shifted uncomfortably in his spot on the couch with Bruce on one side and Natasha on the other side. Natasha was leaning into him, like the assassin wanted a hug, then she scooted back to where she previously was on the other side of the couch with Clint.

A few more minutes after that awkward encounter, Natasha held up a hand to motion for Tony to shut up on his current rant- some new gamma radiation news. "What are these, Steve?" In the palm of her hands was Steve's beloved sketchbook.

Steve's eyes widened and he started to ask for it back before he was interrupted.

Clint, ever her partner-in-crime, piped up, "Didn't know you were an artist."

"What?" Tony got up from his slouching position on an armchair to peer over the duo's shoulders. With a dirty grin, he chuckled, "Wow, Stevie here has a soft side. Wouldn't have pegged you as one?"

"What is wrong with this magnificent work of art, Steven?" Thor boomed, painfully clapping Steve on the shoulder. "In Asgard, artists are rare. Not many are both warrior and muse."

"Thank you, Thor. Again, my name is just Steve, not Steven," he gritted out, before glaring over at Stark, Barton, and Romanoff flipping through the pages. "Hand me my sketchbook." He reached his hand out for it, but was simply ignored.

"I'd pay for this one," Clint said.

Devilishly, Tony tore the page out and raced for the kitchen.

This was the last straw. "Really, Howard," Steve cursed, already on his feet.

Everyone went still as Steve plucked the sketchbook and stalked out of the flat. Jaws dropped and eerie quiet spread through the room, freezing even Thor.

With anger in his veins, Steve jammed his finger into the elevator button and walked into the elevator. He furiously glared at the five frozen figures, while the elevator doors smoothly shut.

Scowling, Steve wondered what happened that made everyone stop. Was the team surprised he was so angry? True, Steve could count on one hand he showed real outrage in front of them, but that wasn't it.

At around the 33rd floor, Steve was hit over the head with the answer. He called Tony his father's name, Howard. It was clear from the beginning to Steve that Howard was a topic that was not discussed, which confused the already confused man.

While Steve felt terrible for the slip-up, he was infuriated for the team violating his privacy- tearing his sketchbook and then watching Stark parade it about.

Even the familiar ride home didn't ease Steve's fury, besides forgiving Bruce a tiny bit for not doing anything. Slumping onto the single couch in his living room, Rogers looked at the empty spot, remembering what the picture was. It was the only page where he had drawn the other five together, though there were several scattered drawings of an Avenger alone or groups of two or three. Even more than being a drawing of all five, the sketch was rather excellent in Steve's mind. The five were chatting in the picture, all at ease and in their element.

The Howling Commandos wouldn't have done this, thought Steve.

Then he backtracked- his friends from the '40s would have done that. Maybe they wouldn't have torn it out but the six men would have gently teased and commented on his drawing abilities. Deep down, Steve would have known that the teasing was in kindness, showing they cared. He would tease the Commandos, the Commandos would return the favour.

What was different between the Steve's old team and his new one? The first was thrown together in difficult conditions, but so was the second. The latter had a tough time becoming in actual team, yet so had the former. The only main difference between the two that Steve could come up with was that the Howling Commandos was torn from him and he had yet to realize that the Avengers would never become the Commandos or replace it. That was a fact.

With a tired sigh, Steve grabbed his drawing pencils and decided that though he wasn't going to remember ever single thing, he wouldn't stop remembering.

The first real grin of the day spread across Steve's face as he slowly finished Peggy's eyes, warm firm earth brown.

A soft knock echoed in the rather empty apartment.

"Hey," was the first thing Natasha said as Steve opened the door. She was stood alone on the doorstep, pushing an auburn hair behind her ear, hands behind her back like a soldier awaiting dismissal.

A bubble of anger began to rise in his chest just at seeing the Avenger who started it. Steve pushed it down. "What are you doing here?" Okay, there was a hint of frustration and anger in his voice.

"I want to apologize for finding your sketchbook," Natasha began, actually looking a smidge sorry.

With a slight scoff, Steve rose an eyebrow. "You didn't find it in my pocket. You stole it."

"Fine. I stole it. I shouldn't have." Natasha rolled her eyes with a smile and a nod.

"I forgive you and the team."

Only the sound of a distant vacuum in an adjoining apartment filled the air. It was surprisingly not weird.

"This may be over stepping my boundaries," she started, "but I think you are an amazing artist."

A chuckle left his lips. "I thought you enjoyed overstepping boundaries. Thank you, nonetheless." Steve paused for a moment. "Did I offend Stark?"

Leaning against the doorway, Natasha gave an honest smile, speaking almost accusingly, "You care about Tony. Don't worry your secrets safe with me. He's fine. Took him maybe a minute to brush it aside, at least on the surface. He was actually the one that sent me."

"Oh," was all Steve could say. The smug billionaire didn't act like Steve mattered in the least, but Starks always were surprising.

"Do you wanna head back with us to the Tower? We're going to have a movie night," invited Natasha starting to take a step back down the hall.

Steve hesitated. He could mourn the dead tonight like every single other night or create memories tonight with the living and still remember the dead.

"Will you guys steal something of mine, make fun of it, then damage it?" The man from another time joked, walking alongside his comrade.

With a chuckle, Natasha responded that she could make no promises, but would try.

Instead of leading him out the front of the apartment complex, the redhead brought Steve to the top floor then unlocked a door with a warning sign, "Do Not Enter."

Of course that didn't stop Natasha.

On the roof, a helicopter was hovering several yards above with a ladder dangling down.

Climbing up the ladder, Steve was shocked to see all of his fellow Avengers, stuffed like sardines in the sleek black jet.

"I'm sorry, Stark-" Steve began but was promptly cut off.

Tony smiled his charming grin. "Please, Rogers. Don't flatter yourself. It takes more than that to bother me."

"We were thinking of having supper together first then a few movies that you and Thor probably haven't seen," Bruce invited, as the helicopter headed towards the Tower.

"Why not," smiled Steve, enjoying the view of New York from above. It was slightly grimy and loud from below but in the air it was shiny and just the right amount of busy.

"By the way your drawing," Tony said, all of the team tensing at his possibly stinging comment, "it was decent. I might want to frame it, if that's all right."

"Sounds good," the captain relaxed smiling at his team. Although slightly annoying (or very annoying), they were a good team, his team.


End file.
